


Just a Memory Now

by bestillmyheart



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Loneliness, M/M, Memories, Sad Ending, Sad-sturbation, sad all around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 23:04:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13844904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestillmyheart/pseuds/bestillmyheart
Summary: How could he, he thinks.What would Dean think?





	Just a Memory Now

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what inspired me here other than consistently seeing these two in pain, pining, and mourning one another. Warning for short, sad porn?

How could he, he thinks. How could he trail his own fingers down the planes of his borrowed body, whispers of love and passion once more filling his ears, and picture them as the hands of a dead man. His eyes brim with tears as his mind churns out images of his lover, of the warmth and comfort and home all enveloped in the broad, callous-rough hands he pretends run down the length of chest, the span of his hips, to lay flush on the soft flesh of his inner thighs.   
  
What would Dean think?  
  
His tears brim over and spill gently down the slopes of his cheeks, caress the sides of his throat before sinking into the pillows beneath him. Not his pillows either. Not his clothes, not his bed, not his love and yet, here he is.  
  
Would Dean understand?  
  
It's 5 AM on a Thursday and here he is, desperately wanting to remember, longing for the phantom touches that brush his skin, praying and pleading in his head with his hands granting them.  
  
Dean should be there, with him.  
  
His cock stirs under his hesitant ministrations, the ghost of what-once-was smiling and curling itself around him. Cas cries, allows his bitter tears to spill and the hitches in his chest to reside there, even as he bites his bottom lip and twists his hand just so around the weeping head. Dean fills his mind, his heart, the memories of him knocking around the empty space his love left behind.  
  
Dean.  
  
_Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean._  
  
His mouth falls open, his sobs crawling into the air, ruining the happy echoes of better times with every hiccup and breath but he can't stop them, can't stop them anymore than he could stop his hands, his thoughts. Small spears of pleasure skitter through his spine, from the base to the knob, and back down again. Blood fills his cock, slippery and dripping in his hands, jerking against his palm, the fist of one sliding slow and slick, up and down, back and forth.   
  
Guilt intertwines with the pleasure, leaves Castiel emptier than he'd been before and yet a step closer to what could've been.  
  
Dean should be there, with him, but he can't be.  
  
In a small grove just outside the bunker, he lies in his grave, eternally asleep, even as the tenderness of his hands tug and strip the aching thickness between his lover's legs, the press of his gentle mouth simultaneously everywhere and nowhere.  
  
Cas gives a soft cry between sobs, tendrils of misery scoring through him at the thought of what his own fingers do to himself but unwilling to stop, to picture that which he misses most, yearns for day and night. His hole clenches down, wet with how much precum he dribbles, desperate to be stretched and filled. At the same time, his cock slips through his fist faster, the tightness of his grip increasing, his hips rocking into the motion.   
  
In his head, he pictures Dean.  
  
Dean, loving and caring, murmuring filthy-sweet praises against his cheek, the bolt of his jaw, the skin just beneath his ear. His hands sink into his shoulders, his weight pinning him, holding him, and his mouth lingers on piece of skin it can reach, tongue flicking out to taste what he finds. Cas' cock jumps, pushes through his fist harder, noises obscene where the flesh of his hand meets the base of his cock, sobs intermingling with softer, choked sounds of reluctant pleasure. His nipples pebble on his chest, ghost-mouth suckling just so, while his own chants out:  
  
_Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean._  

And then the abyss of pleasure yawns open with its' wide maw, and allows him to fall within, Dean and his tender smile and his loving pride and his happy eyes following close behind - and he's coming, over his stuttering fingers, his chest, his chin -

\- and he's never felt emptier.

Castiel croaks out a broken wail and turns into the memories that surround him, and cries.

All the while, his mind on repeat:

_Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean._

**Author's Note:**

> If it seems like the ending is kind of cut off, it's because it is; I've had this drabble mostly complete for a long time - as I always start writing with fic pieces/bunnies and almost never finish - and haven't written in this style for a while. But! I also didn't want to leave it festering when others can be just as sad with me. If anyone is curious, I imagine Dean dies in this universe with a valiant, universe-saving death, post-Bunker finding, leaving Sam and Castiel to cope with his passing (though they keep the body preserved in a grave, just in case).


End file.
